The Pupper Has Landed

So the deed is done, the pupper collected and I am now officially the sole responsible carer for one demonic white fluffball with a penchant for cheese. Sole carer eh? Bar babysitting (do other people’s kids really count anyways?) the last time I had sole care of anything was two goldfish in 2001 and that did not end up well. However times have moved on, I have grown up and fingers crossed Archie will not be floating atop a bowl of water anytime soon.

I have to say it’s been only a week, but that week has been LONG. It feels like this little terreur poilue has been around much longer than a mere week. But what of it,  how has it been? Well it’s a week spent in a daze of equal parts bliss, fear and pain. Pain for the sore feet of course. Boy, I knew puppy teeth were sharp but my poor feet have been undergoing a relentless attack these past few days. Whether slippered, shoelaced or barefoot, my boy has a foot fetish and my poor tootsies are paying the price. And let me tell you, a sharp bite of my achilles heel doth butter you precisely zero parsnips young Archie, so I’m nipping that behavior right in the bud.

Bliss of course because he’s an adorable cloud of joy, pink of taut little belly & button of nose. His joyfulness at a rope ball is something to behold and his snuffles as he wakes up every morning melt this cold cynical heart o mine. Ridiculously enough he seems to trust me (I haven’t told him about the fish yet) and I’ve got myself the little fluffy shadow I’ve always dreamed of.

And terrifying? Jeez yes. Now I know why most parents I know find a chilled bottle of white wine in the fridge as essential as a bottle of Calpol. This sole caring lark is stressful! He’s only been with me a short time but I’ve already worried I’ve broken him at least three times. Whether it’s falling off the sofa, licking slugs or shooting off like a mad thing with a wide eyed determination to cross the road that he can’t yet see.

Now before you say anything, I’m not one of those types who will call their dog their fur baby, this is a dog, not a child - though if you call your actual human child a fur baby I won’t judge you… merely congratulate you on your hirsute offspring & unusual naming talents. However there is something to be said on the similarities between becoming a first time pet owner and parent I reckon, an affinity to be struck. I’ve seen newbie parents first hand, they look tired as hell, quite confused and definitely stressed. Feelings I can entirely identify with after just one week. That’s to say nothing of the broken sleep, the ongoing concern of what happens if I fuck this right up? Yup! Got that too, and that’s before I even start the fact that since my overgrown cotton wool ball has arrived I only finish 1 in 5 cups of tea hot, and showers lasting longer than 2 minutes seem a long distant memory.

However, for all of these gripes, the stress, the fears, the lack of hot teas and showers, I am loving life with my Archie. Yes he’s nippy (both in teeth and flight of paw), and while I have never aspired to practice picking up dog poo as a hobby before, there really is nothing like being awoken with a gentle lick to the nose (mine, not his) and I’m super glad he’s here.

And for those among you who might say I'm a little too over enthusiastic about owning a dog, posting too many pictures, creating him an Instagram (yes, I'm one of those owners) & generally being in love with my pup, I'll say this to you: I don't care, do feel free to mute me. Cos this is something I've wanted for nigh on 20 years and coming at time when I could really do with it. It literally is my dream come true, and right now I'm revelling in it. So even though I can see the further mischief in these button eyes of his I already feel the decision to bring young Archibald into my life is probably one of my better ones, and I can’t wait to see how he unfolds…. foot fetishes aside.